The Wars of the Roses : Sons of York
by Paper Ballerina
Summary: Before The Tudors, there were the York brothers; The charming George, loyal Richard and the womanizing handsome Edward who intends to be king. Follow their struggles to gain the English crown along with their scandals, romances, battles and heartaches.
1. Prologue

Edmund desperately ran, tripping occasionally over the fallen and the dying. As they raised their hands imploringly to him, begging for him to help them, they left long bloody trails upon his glistening armour. He kept on running, through the gory and the mud that tried to entrap him, he had to find a horse, he had to escape. His armour dragged him down and weighted heavily on his scrambling limbs and heaving chest and made him hiss with frustration and raising panic. _Please God..._He whispered hoarsely as he felt helpless tears fill his eyes. He sprinted across the battlefield, running for his very life; he could hear the pounding of heavy hooves riding in the distance. Constant and rhythmic like a drum roll at an execution, even his own heart beat in to the deadly rhythm. It pounding against his ribs as though it was trying to escape his slow body and flee to quickly safety. The sound of the ghostly horses mocked him by not telling him how close they were but he did not dare look back. He was too frightened and determined too. He had to get away, anywhere but here. But he could see nowhere to run. There were no woodlands or holes or houses or horses. There was only a bridge and a small path. In sheer desperation he ran towards the bridge hoping he could hide under it in the small river or he could follow it to safety.

* * *

As the bridge got closer, Edmund felt overwhelmed by the weight of his armour and exhausted by his flight across the bloody battlefield. His long legs ached and threaten to cramp and his lungs could no longer hold air. But he could not stop; he could hear the hooves thundering dangerously behind him. 'Father would be displeased if I let him down now...And Brother Edward is sending troops to aid us...Fucking move you bloody weakling!' He wailed as the hot tears poured down his face as he hobbled towards the small bridge. _Edward...Father...Mother... _He thought weakly as he almost succumb to exhaustion, feeling faint and light headed as he stumbled on as quickly as he could. He was so tired, so very tired, he could barely hear the horses as they approached ever closer. Their hooves were no longer a deadly drum roll but the base of some gentle lullaby willing him to rest. He could even feel his eye closing as his foot touched the start of the bridge. But his eyes sprung open when he heard a single high pitched whiny. _Oh God no,_ He thought with paralyzing panic. He started to sprint across the wooden bridge, trying to pull off his gloves and armour. Panic had taken a hold of him and nothing but the need to escape filled his mind. His armour was being desperately pulled and stripped away like an egg shell and sent crashing down onto the wooden planks of the bridge. They resounded loudly like the fire of a canon only making him more nervous. As he finally freed himself of his chest plate he could see the end of the bridge. He was closer to safety and his family; he could barely hear the hooves over the sound of his hopeful heartbeat in his ear as he run forwards. But then came an odd sensation, someone had thrown warm water across his shoulders and back. He thought it was strange but kept on running but then was crippled with pain and confusion. Why was his back wet? Why could he not move? He had to move or the army would catch up with him. He couldn't understand it. He was across the bridge; he was safe, so why could he not move? But then it became apparent. The soldiers, his enemies, the Lancastrians had merely rode past him. _They have spared me? _Edmund thought as he fell to his knees as they thundered past him, _God be praised. I'm alive! _But then he saw the crimson blood gathering around his knees and the bloodied sword in one of the soldier's hands. _I cannot die. I am only eighteen... _He reasoned as he fell forwards on his fair face. _I'm a prince...The true prince..._

He could feel no pain for he was numb and suddenly very cold. He could hear only the blurry sounds of words but not the words themselves coming from the soldiers as blood ran down his shoulder and along his jaw line and fair hair. Despite his lingering senses telling him so, he wasn't in that muddy field anymore or on that bridge instead he was safe at home.

* * *

He could see his family lounging in the family garden waiting for him, everything painted gold from the garish light of the setting sun. His father, Richard duke of York was sitting on the stone bench as proudly as if he was sitting on the throne that was rightfully his, watching over his children and lands. Besides him, his beautiful and queenly wife Cecily sat contently humming gesturing for Edmund to come sit with them. At his mother's feet was dearest sister Margaret will her nose in book as always but looked up and smiled at Edmund, but his eyes were drawn to the setting sun. Standing in the brilliant and blinding rays sunlight were his brothers, standing side by side. Handsome Edward, the eldest was standing with his arms on his brother's shoulders, guarding and guiding them. George, the second eldest stood looking towards Edmund and the runt of the litter little Richard looked up at him gravely. In his heart Edmund knew that he had failed them and now they would have to fight. It was up to Edward, Richard and George to face the wrath of the revengeful queen and mad king, to fight to stay alive and to battle for the English crown that was rightfully theirs. He looked on proudly at the three brothers dressed in shining armour, standing together in the fading sunlight, waiting to do their duty. They looked so heroic and undefeatable. Edmund faintly smiled at the thought and watched as the sun faded over the family leaving him in total darkness. The last thing he saw was the brothers, the sons of York, ready to fight. The scene gave him comfort and at last he succumb to sleep.


	2. Edward, George and Richard

_The wars of the roses: The sons of York_

_An: this story will be split into at least four different stories. Splitting the last Plantagenet and first Tudor reigns up to make it easier to read. The stories will end at Henry VIII's accession. Many Tudors fans have no interest or idea about the Plantagenets that came before the Tudors, which I can't understand. The story of the Plantagenets involves war, murders, passions, forbidden and true love, betrayal, gluttony, the creation of the rock star monarch, tragedy and sex. So in theory everything the Tudors had. In any case please enjoy and please review. In particular leave criticisms or requests such as wanting more of a character or more description. Thank you!_

England 1460

The poor beast was drenched to the bone as it dragged its heavy hooves through the thick and viscid mud that clung to its damp and lean legs. Onwards through the mud and the stinking waste the stead was pushed by its young master, who sat hunched forwards in the saddle, shielding himself from the wind and the rain. The wind snapped at them like the crack of a whip and through its sheer strength and aggression commanded their begrudged respect. The rain too showed them no mercy and unleashed its full freezing liquid army culminating in a harsh tempest that fought against the young man and his loyal stead. But the young man simply lowered his head and commanded his stead forwards into the blizzard. Not even the reaper himself could stand in the young man's way. The young man glanced up behind a veil of rain and golden strands of hair occasionally to see where he was going, but that was barely necessary. Even in the vindictive storm that had engulfed him, he could see the old proud roman walls of the city of York. He rode towards the towering walls, riding so close he could even run his smooth hand along the rough and wet stones as his horse trekked onwards, lumbering through the mud that puckered like wanton lips at the handsome young man as he travelled onwards. But there was no fondness for these walls in his heart as he dragged his hand along the rough and slimy walls. There was no sudden spark of fondess nor reculection of pleasant memeories as he rode closer. The rain was relentless and stung at his fair hazel eyes as he looked for the city gate. The cold quickly chilled his bones and his unblemished knuckles turned white from holding the reins too tightly. This trip had not been taken for sentimental reasons nor to celebrate the king's (godly and good king Henry VI) recent victory over the troublesome claimant to the English throne; Richard, duke of York and his son Edmund. Nothing pained the young man more than when he heard that the mad king Henry had won the battle and that the duke and his son was dead. Dead and never to return. With their deaths, the young man knew England was in dire trouble once again.

The king, however saintly and regal, was mad and his brutal and bloody queen used him as a puppet to rule unjustly and harshly for herself. She bore no love for the English in her cold and cruel French heart (The English in return referred to her as 'the bitch'). However due to a dethroning centuries back there were two rightful blood lines and two rightful kings: King Henry and Richard, duke of York. With York there was a glimmer of hope for England but that hope was slowly rotting like the remains of his corpse. The young man stirred his stead forwards in the direction of the gates while grimacing at the thought of the corpse of the duke. The only hope for England lay with York's eighteen year old son; Edward. But he was young and had never truly seen war or death or led an army. He would be a brash bold boy leading a small army against a king and his kingdom. Only a fool would even bet in Edward's favour. The young man looked up as he reached the tall sturdy gate through the thick curtain of rainfall, straining to see. He sat trying to see the key stone of the great arch way, the rain pouring down his handsome and young face as he looked upwards towards the weeping heavens. There was a beat where he couldn't see a thing and all he could feel was the icy cold droplets of rain falling down the neck of his skirt onto the tender skin of his chest. The curtain of rain opened up before him so he could get only a glance at the stone. It was all he need. He quickly recoiled in horror causing his muddied and soaked horse to rear in alarm as he saw the key stone of the gate's stony arch way. Looking down at the man was the rotting head of the duke of York. A sinister and toothy grimace was spread across his greying face while his sockets were empty with only scraps of flesh dagling out, like the roots of a blackened tree. Above his left eye, the bone was exposed and was speckled with bird excrement and dried blood while his remaining flesh was taut and torn. His brown hair was muddied and clung to his head and in the centre of his forehead a nail was driven crudely to pin the severed head against the wall. If this wasn't humiliating enough; a paper crown was placed upon his head to mock his claim to the throne. Like Jesus and his crown of throns, it was placed to mock him as he suffered. As if to say ;The only crown he would ever wear would be a flimsy piece of paper. The young man glared, feeling hot nipping tears welling in his eyes and forcefully kicked his horse to make it ride away from the horrific sight. The horse whinnied loudly and clumsily attempted to run in the thick mud while it's master sat stony faced , clenching the reins so tightly the leather cracked against his skin. The wind and the rainfall stung his eyes exacerbating the tears in his hazel eyes making them grudgingly fall down his fair face as he rode away from York. At that moment, as he rode blindly into the English countryside he swore revenge for his father and brother and that he would kill Henry VI himself and that he, Edward Plantagenet, would be king of England. Even though the odds were hevaily against him and his chances of fulfilling his desires were slim, Edward rode away with a passion and determination in his chest that was so great it pained him in the bitter cold of the tempest. From that day forward he would fight for his crown even if he had to taint English soil with royal blood.

* * *

Richard clung to the pillar not daring to move, his little body shivered and against the thick stone support as he listened to the inaudible voices coming from the hall. Even if they were audible, he wouldn't have listened. He did not want to listen, he did not want to know, all he wanted was to be in his mother's arms and to see his father again. _Where was mama and papa?_ He thought with a quivering lip and a darting glance. He stood in the shadows flinching every time he heard a gruff voice being raised. Why were they here? What did they want? When would they leave? The questions only proved to make him more anxious and want to weep. George, being older and braver than Richard, knelt before the hall's double doors and peered through the keyhole, casting a rich amber light partially over his fair face.

Inside the lavish and dimly lit hall, George could just see their mother kneeling before a man. Their mother; Cecily was a proud and beautiful woman and the thought of her bowing to anyone seemed impossible to George, yet there she was. She kneeled like a peasant before the man, her fine dress crumpled under her knees as she looked up at him imploringly. Her face was still beautiful and statuesque but was slightly worn by age and her hair, her wonderful amber hair, was loose and wild hanging from her buxom shoulders like the long leaves of a willow tree in autumn. She was always so dignified and beautiful but here she was pleading with a man that's boots and hose were speckled with mud and soaked with rain. George felt ashamed at the sight of his mother acting so; she was the duchess of York for goodness sake. She should be dignified and graceful always.

'Please' she begged, her voice trembled with withheld emotion as she clasped her hands before the man, who was only partially revealled from the hips down. 'You mustn't leave here without them. My babes will be butchered if you leave them here!' She cried as he shuffled uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one muddy foot to the other. George felt coldness settle on his young shoulders at her comment. Butchered? surely not? Who would butcher him and little Richard? Were they in danger? Why would they be when father could protect them?

'Cecily' the man said at last as she looked up at him. He spoke with some small trace of compassion but it was overshadowed by urgency and a commanding tone. 'They would slow me down. I must make haste and flee before the queen knows I'm here or I shall die too' He said quietly as if the mad queen was there behind him. George felt a surge of distaste at the mention of the queen, yet he did not know way. It was a strange instintual dislike but he suspected that it was because she was french. Cecily laughed cruelly at him or perhaps she laughed at the sad state of affairs they seemed to be in. Why, only yesterday she was a very influensal duchess but not now. George swallowed uncomfortably but did not dare look away.

'You have just told me my husband and son are dead, my son Edward is missing and that an army is marching this way to capture me and daughters and kill my other sons. That does not grieve you? That does not inspire some small pity in your heart that you would not save the lives of two little boys?' she spat out venomously as she contained the pain and hurt that was in her heart. She had lost her beloved husband and oldest son in one day and now she faced losing her last remaining boys and with them, the end of the house of York. She sighed, exhausted by the strain of the recent events. The man remained akwardly silent as she looked away to hide her emotions.

George pulled away from the keyhole to reflect upon what had just been said. Brother Edward was gone, which it did not pain George too much but would hurt little Richard as he adored Edward. Father and Edmund were dead, which George knew was very bad for mother and them, but he would not cry. He would have to be brave for them all, as he was the oldest male in Edward's absence. He was the leader now that Edward wasn't here and that gave him some satisfaction and comfort in this bleak time. He was thirteen, practically a man and now he finally got an oppertunity to prove himself. But the last thing worried him. An army was coming to kill him and Richard. George had only ever seen a small army whenever his father went to war and they had seemed such nice men, but now they were coming to kill him like monsters out of a nightmare and he could do nothing. He knew that he could only fight so many off before they would overwhelm him, even though his only practice had been against Richard with wooden swords. He looked over his shoulder at Richard. Nine year old Richard stood vibrating like a drumhead in the darkness cast by the pillar; he looked so small and weak. His little face was drained of colour and he stood biting his lower lip, an annoying habit of his when he got anxious. How could he ever fight a battle? He was so small and slight, he would simpley be killed with a single blow.

'What's happening?' Richard whispered, frightened at the sound of his own voice. George felt protective over Richard as he saw him so freightened, but would not comfort him. He needed to toughen up.

'Oh stop that whimpering, we have to be brave and strong, Richard. I'm trying to listen' George replied tartly, sighing impatiently at Richard as he peered back through the keyhole. Richard nodded silently and wished that father or Edward was here to tell them that everything was alright, for he was so frightened and George did nothing to help him understand what was happening.

Back in the hall, Cecily still sat in silence waiting for the response from the man, unwilling to moving. She knew that if he declined her plea that she could stall him long enough until he would give in just to save his own skin. She knew that he that he was not an unkind man, no; he had just been hardened by war. He had to make decisions whither to save or take a life, so why should two little boys weigh on his conscience so? But she did not care for his conscience for she only cared about saving her boys. She was a simply woman. She cared not for court or glory or even saving england, she simply wished to save her sons from the blood thiristy brutes of the Queen's army. She looked up at him without any expression or emotion, she just looked. _Say something!_ George urged, feeling the growning threat of the army drawing closer. The silence was smothering, for it was overwhelming and seemed to mute everyone in the hall. But then the man spoke, so clearly and sympathic, George could hardly believe it was the same man.

' Your Grace, Stand. There is no need for you to throw yourself at my feet to beg for help. Your husband would curse me for making you act so desperately. If you can gather the boys and get them in a saddle, we shall ride and take them abroad. But by god be quick, woman. The queen can only be just behind us with her chavlery. Go now, say your goodbyes and make haste'

Cecily rose so elegantly, taking his leathery hand in hers before gratefully kissing it. She bowed her head before hitching up her skirts and running towards the doorway, her dissevilled appareance made worse by the quick and urgant movement. Her heels clicked loudly and it resounded around the silent castle that waited anxiously for instructions. Before she came to close, george turned and ran besides Richard, his little heart beating with excitement and fear. They would make a hurried escape in the night and board a ship abroad. But he had never left home before, would mother come too? Would their sisters? He stood looking towards the doorway, all the while feeling Richard's worried grey eyes upon him. Cecilly opened the doors with one quick and powerful movement which shocked the boys, never had they seen a woman so strong and determined. She barked orders to the maids to grab some clothes and small supplies before hurrying over to her little boys. Cecily looked at them both as a small sad smile crossed her face. She looked at little Richard, who tired to hold her hand but was shooed away. He was so unlike the others in everyway. He was the runt of her royal litter and at birth no one thought he would live, but the little boy fought against all the odds. Even now, He was still small and skrawny with eyes the colour of mercury and hair as black as a raven. So unlike all the other York children in everyway. She then looked towards George and placed both of her lilly white hands upon his soft cheeks. He was the fairest and prettiest of the children and her most beloved. With his dirty blond curls and gleaming sapphire eyes, he looked more like an angel then a soilder, so fair and fine that she feared the world would crush him underfoot like a rare and beautiful flower. She held back her tears as she looked at George, he simpley looked back at her yet they both came to a silent understanding; This was goodbye.

' You boys must leave now. You're father and brother Edmund are dead and the queen is turning her wrath on us next. You will go with his grace, The Earl of Warwick, and will go somewhere safe. ' She said calmly but firmly. George nodded sadly but never let showed his sadness or fear. It would disappoint his mother to do so. But Richard started to weep again at the news of their father's death, but then paused for a moment.

'Shall you come somewhere safe with us, mama?' He asked as he tried to control his little sobs. Cecily smiled and shook her head, barely taking her eyes off George. Richard's tears subsided into alarm. ' I will not leave you unless it is safe! I won't do it! I won't leave you!' . Cecily's smile faltered and she looked towards Richard with annoiance. Her emotions were strained as it was without Richard's protests.

'We will be safe, Richard. People only care about boys and not girls. And you will not disobey or defiy me . His grace, Warwick, Has been kind enough to spare your life. Now, you will do as he says and do not try to come back here. England is not safe for you.' She said trying to contain her emotions as she removed her hands from George's baby cheeks. Would she ever feel them again? Was this the last time she would see her darling boy, her little prince? She bit her lip to stop a sob escaping. Richard was gently weeping again, no doubt feeling lost and saddened but George remained grave faced. She smiled at his control and placed a kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering on his forehead to inhale his sweet scent. She moved then to Richard, she cupped her hands under his wet chin and looked into those intense silver orbs. He looked up at her sadly as she planted a kiss on his forehead and pushed him away when he tried to hug her. She wanted the seperation to be quick least she herself would cry. She heard Warwick walk towards the little family and she moved from her sons. She looked towards him and gave a small smile. Warwick was an older man, with hard features and a intimadating air but was a very good friend to their father, Edmund and Edward. He looked more like a foot soilder than an earl, George observed haughtily but remained silent.

' Take them now' Cecily whispered looking away from her children. Warwick gave her a weak smile and gestured for his companions and the boys to follow. George followed obideantly, his rose bud lip trembling slighty as he did so, But Richard resisted and called out to his mother. Cecily turned away from him and walked back into the brightly lit hall while he was dragged out into the night and into the unknown. She walked quickly across the barren hall, up the stairs and to her own chapel, wihtout any emotion or thought in her mind. Once save inside her chapel, she let the tears poured down her face as she kneeled before the cross.

'Keep my children save as sail across the sea. Like Moses in his basket, lead them to safety, I beg of you. And send your blessing to Edward, wherever he might be. He is our hope, our heir. We are lost without him. Save my sons since you have taken one already. Please do not take another!' She wept loudly as she prayed. Her sons were scattered. Edmund was dead, Richard and George were soon to be gone and Edward had vanished. They were lost to her and she could do nothing but wait, like a prisoner, to hear of their fate and hers. In England, fourtune changed so quickly and drastically and so often she didn't dare hope. She would pray and wait to see what became of her three precious boys.


End file.
